50 shades of 50 shades
by Taekwon
Summary: A harrowing oneshot covering the demonstrative psychological effects, emotional effects, and increasing desperation that accompanies loss. Other themes include: struggle with piety and celibacy within religious vows, man's attempt to defeat death, and the prevalence of perversity within Japanese culture.


cisclaimer: yeah man I don't own muramasa or anything like that seriously, you think i'm rich or something come on.

**50 shades of 50 shades**

Eyes opened sleepily and met moonlight, as Momohime awoke- a small noise had roused her. As she wiped her eyes, she found herself looking from side to side, looking for what woke her up- probably just a restless monkey. But for all she looked, there was nothing she could find in her modest room. She figured that her senses must have fooled her- it was nothing at all.

But it was not so, as a large hand snaked and caught her wrist just as she brought it up- and another clasped to her mouth to prevent her from screaming.

"Shhh.. It's alright Momohime" An all too familiar voice coaxed from the darkness. She's heard of this before, of men who steal into the nun's quarters and ravish them, taking what the gods had denied to so many others for their own. That this one would share the same voice as Jinkuro- was it a mercy, or a curse? His face, previously shrouded in shadow, came into view- a battle hardened, lined face, not unhandsome but that of a stranger. Yet, perhaps not, something about it resonated in her mind, as if she'd seen it- _somewhere_.

_('You look ill. What's wrong with you? Are you in pain?')_

She blinked away the unwarranted memories from her vision, as he lowered his hand from her face.

"Who are you?" Her voice- almost breathless- showed no trace of fear. However, her eyes- wide and upturned- to the intruder showed more than she would've cared to. Everything was so bleary, hazy, as vestiges of her dreams still clung to her mind.

"Hah. So you are saying you don't remember? Not even after I ruined your virtue by defiling your body as my own?"

"Ji..Jinkuro! But…. You're supposed to be in hell."– '_for my sake'_ Momohime silently added in her head. She broke eye contact with him, as shame filled her. That was why she was here, wasn't it? To pray for his soul- that he might be saved? Swallowing her apprehension, she blurted out, "Why are you here?" A yawn punctuated the question, she was so _tired._ Was this an illusion? Some trick her mind was playing with her as she teetered between the state of wakefulness and sleep?

"Tcht! If I can escape from hell as a living person, I can do it dead. I should just be glad Kongiku got Muramasa to forge my soul into a sword, it's only temporary- but isn't life?" He laughed, and his breath- _his not hers finally -_ his breath washed across her skin, spreading warmth as her eyes darted down to a lone sword tucked into his obi. Had he only just arrived in this world? His eyes, meanwhile, meandered to the creamy delicate shoulder that was exposed in her slightly dishevelled state, before taking his hand and sliding it along her shoulder- exposing her to each and every intricate line and callous on his hand. "Why I'm here is a completely different matter. I'm here for you, of course."

She shivered- but whether from the cold air pouring in through the window or otherwise, she was unsure.

"Me?"

He continued on as if she hadn't replied at all. "I know your body better than anyone else, you know." His hand plunged into her neckline and slid the sleeve further and further down her arm. "I could feel your heart racing each time I transferred my soul into your body. Or was it mine? Maybe I'm so old now that my memory is going." He seemed more subdued and reflective than alert, his eyes hooded and his movements languid as he chuckled at his own sentiment.

He took her hand, seemingly made of bird's bones so light and fragile, in his and pressed it to his most vulnerable point- his throat. His pulse thrummed wildly and savagely under her fingers, much like Jinkuro himself was. She looked to his mangy hair, and unshaven face- leading into the tufts of hair that dared to peek out of his robes. Surely, he was no Yukinojyo- all groomed manners and pretense- he was Jinkuro, a ronin. He leaned in close to the dip of her neck smelling the air as he went along- reminding his senses of the ever present smell of lilies and fragrant wood, and relishing it as he pulled away.

"I've a body now though- so here we are? You wouldn't turn down a chance of this with me, not after what I did for you, right?" He was whispering into her ear now, his voice deeply hoarse.

A million different stimuli, a million different things to think about- words, emotions, touches- but all Momohime could register was that Jinkuro was alive. It seemed so wondrous, she could hardly believe it if he was not there in front of her. Still half-asleep, she absently wondered if she still dreamt- if this was just a figment of her subconscious.

Jinkuro watched her, waiting for her reply- he expected her to refuse, and the silence wavered and lengthened was as good a rejection as any other. He had a new body, but he was still an old man, an old man who had all but ruined her life. He might have condemned himself to hell for her salvation, but it wasn't as if any of the sins her body had committed were of her own. It was all him. Had he really learned anything at all? Here he was, laughing death in the face again, just as selfish as he'd been before. Come to take something that, again, didn't belong to him. He took her body from her, and now he was attempting to take her from the Gods she had devoted herself to. He wondered though, why was Momohime here in the first place? She shouldn't be living the modest, pious life of a nun- she should be living an opulent life being the princess that she was. Shouldn't she be married to Yukinojyo by now? '_Bastard. I should've killed him- he doesn't deserve her mercy._' Jinkuro thought. Rather than Yukinojyo, some inoffensive, rich, well-mannered man who was more likely to dabble in shogi rather than swordplay and treachery.

He frowned, pulling his hand back from her clothing cursing his hotbloodedness- he shouldn't have come back, would the Gods retract their promise for Momohime's soul, now that he had reneged?

He backed away, feeling overwhelmed by guilt, he shouldn't be here- he should just leave, let her believe this was some dream. A part of him, a small part, urged him to take her then, and make away with her- whether she wanted to or not. _You're Jinkuro Izuna, when has anything ever stopped you from taking what you want?_ But he couldn't. He wound his memory, back to the unimaginable amounts of alcohol he had drank before coming here. That was a mistake, coming here was a mistake.

Suddenly it became all too much to look at her at all, as if she was an affront to his sense and he turned away from her altogether.

"You're leaving?" He heard Momohime's soft voice call from the darkness, as she tumbled off of her futon, sleepily shuffling towards him. One of her hands grasped tightly onto his sleeve, "Wait. Don't- _Please_. I prayed for you." She stumbled over her words, a juttering staccato that seemed to jumble in his brain, coalescing without making any sense.

Pray? For him? He didn't deserve it- didn't _need_ it. Suddenly his blood was on fire, as he imagined Momohime, so young and pure, wasting her life away in the monastery because of him. For pity. He was angry- at what, he was unsure. Suddenly, he found himself grasping her, pressing himself against her- pressing his lips against hers. It was desperate, hungry-

And then they fucked.

AN: hey wrote some muramasa fanfic hope you enjoy? i'll finish it. eventually. maybe tomorrow? it's a crazy world who knows.


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